Unsteady
by Sealeena
Summary: "And she felt that ocean of unconsciousness beckon her back, cold and forever back into the horizon. It would be so easy to just let the waves lap at her and gently pull her back in." Beth somehow survived, and now she's out to find them, especially him. But what are the consequences when she makes it now, and she's finding herself talking to people who left her for dead? Bethyl
1. But See how Deep the Bullet Lies

_Disclaimer: Okay peeps! Don't own TWD and characters and yada-yada-yada. Canon-rejecting fic ahoy! Let's have fun with it!_

 **Chapter One: But See how Deep the Bullet Lies**

The darkness became alive in an instant, with a wretched, strangled sob, a breath that clawed its way to the surface and violently broke the silence. The darkness was all encompassing, and there was nothing to see but the inky, swirling blackness that promised life beyond its reach, if only it could be reached beyond.

The darkness was all she knew.

Was it night or day? Where was she? What had happened?

Pain, so much. In the front, exploding and angry and hot, it had been all over her. She had fallen. Down.

Down.

Down.

And then there was nothing, but now there was this, the darkness that was alive but told her no answers.

Her breath seemed so loud, wherever she was. The space was warm, a humidity in the air that was pressing down on her, almost suffocating. She was so uncomfortable, like her body was folded in half, and there was a crick in her neck, begging to be stretched out and feel life in her body again. It was her head though, that was wrong, felt it was on fire, burning and angry, with fingernails scratching the inside of her head.

Slowly, agonizingly, her hands tried to reach out in the space around her, to feel and discover. She was right in that the space was small, that was why her body was scrunched like it was. And now, after several minutes, her eyes adjusted and she could sort of see the surrounding metal, feel the carpeted and hard surface below her. Her eyes adjusted, she could also see something...glowing? Was glowing a word?

 _Glowing is a word._

Glowing. It was like a lever to pull. But something stopped her from grabbing at it, to escape this dark space. Without a conscious effort, she listened to her surroundings. Far, far away maybe? Moans. Nothing close. Nothing swarming and restless and...and what? What was it? Why would words not come to her?

 _Hungry. The hungry things._

 _The monsters._

Monsters. Yes, there were no monsters. So, ever so gently, she pulled on the little glowing lever, and there was a rush of fresh air as the top of the world opened up on her, and revealed a new type of darkness, but one that was twinkling beautifully and dusting of glitter across its canvas. It was full of noises and so very far away, forever out of her physical reach.

It was hard for things to come into focus, and she couldn't keep her thoughts straight. Her mind seemed to want to explode and was clamoring to have one voice heard, but there were many voices. There was screaming, something sharp, a crash, the world exploding and he's crying. Why was he crying so much? She was flashing in and out as he carried her down the hallway, down to the woman screaming, crying.

 _But I'm still here!_

She had wanted to scream that. She wanted to let them know she was still there, but she drifted in and out, she couldn't breathe, couldn't move or speak or do anything at all. And she had exploded. The essence of her was punched through and came out the back in a giant, bloody mess, and so they didn't think to check.

There was crying, so much of it, and then there was running. There was fighting, there was movement and someone was carrying her? But it was too much, and they had to move faster.

"She's dead! You have to let her go Daryl. We have to let her go."

"-let her be fucking torn apart!"

"Have to go. We have to go."

"Fuck you! Fuck! Fuck!"

The big sound was closer now. It was a roar, the hungry monsters. They were closing in.

 _Herd._

She didn't know after that. And she didn't know if any of it was real. But she was in a small space, and now there was fresh air.

 _Fresh. The sky. You and him were running, running until you fell down and you were heaving great big breathes. And he fell down beside you. And there were birds in the sky and it was bright. So bright. Too bright and warm._

Her head hurt. It hurt so much. She tried to move, but she couldn't, and the world swam. It was dizzying and she felt like she was falling, like she had too much moonshine like that one time, and her stomach wanted to crawl away from her into the black water. But her throat was dry, and she was too stubborn to give into that burning feeling that lurched within her.

She didn't know how much time passed, if it had been a little or none at all, but then there was some light. It was cutting in and out, from far away, and voices. They weren't the guttural groans, or moans, but actual voices. They were talking normally, but nothing loud to incite discovery of what went bump in the night.

The breath in her rattled again, as she tried to work her throat. But it felt a bit like a gurgle, this strange thing that erupted within her, and all that came out of her was a cry, like an animal dying, long and low. The voices picked up, and there were running footsteps that got closer to her.

"See? I told you they left her behind."

The voice was familiar, but she was still swimming. She felt like she was suffocating. And it still hurt. It hurt so much! Scratching, scratching in her head. It was like something with nails was clawing, digging, searching, and her skull was the ground, the floor, the cave.

"Are you sure she isn't, you know?"

"No she's there, look at her eyes. She's alive. They should have let me check for a pulse, dammit!'

"She looks bad. She's going to take a lot of resources."

"Fuck the resources. Fuck Dawn's whole thing. She's dead. It doesn't matter. We need to change things, and you know it. We'll call a meeting tomorrow. Just...just help me carry her back. We can get her cleaned up, see how bad it is."

"Is it even worth saving her?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Please."

It was soft, barely anything, but the shape noticed, the one with the light. White hot blinding pain came then as the light was shined in her face, and her arm felt like it was lead as she brought it to her face to shield herself. She moaned lowly, wincing at the pain that followed throughout her body, like an electric shock that twisted and burned within her.

"Help...help me." Her throat was sandpaper. "Hurts."

"Beth, it's me, it's Edwards." He was so close now, and there were two others with, that she could tell. The light was no longer on her face. "We're going to move you, it's going to hurt. Just stay strong."

"Jesus, what about her head. Wasn't there a huge hole in the back of her head?" It was another male voice, but she couldn't place it.

Everything hurt so much.

"The exit wound doesn't look bad. There's a lot of blood. Head wounds bleed a lot, but it clotted. That's a really good sign. Ok. We're going to have to move her quickly, before we get surrounded. We can do this."

 _He had placed his hand on her back, pushing her to the other end, like he was saying, "Get out, get out, get out!" He was trying to get her away. He thought she had been dead, and she was there, and she saw him alive, and she wanted to throw her arms around him, but then that bitch...that murderous crazy bitch._

 _And the pain exploding through her head._

 _Falling._

They grabbed her and she remembered being pulled out of the trunk of a car before blissfully slipping into the darkness again that wasn't so alive.

* * *

There was the candlelight, the feel of the ivory beneath her fingers, piano slightly out of tune, but in remarkably good shape considering the world had gone to hell for a good two years. He had gone off to secure the perimeter, so here she sat and softly played, quietly singing, but her voice was still strong and confident.

She had lit the candles earlier to see, and the glow was comforting. The soft, amber light reminiscent of better times, and sang about beers to shotgun, laying in the lawn, and just being good.

And he was in the doorway, for God knows how long. She stopped, he told her to keep singing, curling up in the coffin all comfortable, like a cat coming in from outside and hunkering down for the night. His eyes were glittering, so very intense on her, that when she turned back around to resume, she could feel him burning a hole into her soul.

She felt the heat of him, and with that, it produced a heat in her, to where her fingers trembled and her throat felt dry.

But instead of joining him in the damn coffin, instead of succumbing to her desire to lie with him and shed her clothes, to feel flesh upon flesh, she just kept singing, and then it was all over before she could do or say anything.

* * *

It was like she had washed to the shore. There was a softness below her, the softness of sand? No, it was a bed, but the sheets were stale, the room dusty. And she felt that ocean of unconsciousness beckon her back, cold and forever back into the horizon. It would be so easy to just let the waves lap at her and gently pull her back in.

Sleep.

Forever.

It would be so easy to never wake up. There wouldn't be any pain, there wouldn't be any time to mourn, to try and tell them she had aimed for the neck, but things went wrong and everything was ruined.

And she didn't get to tell him, to even say hello.

She didn't get the chance.

So it was like lifting herself from the icy cold water. Her body was sluggish and hard to move, and her eyes were slow to open. And it was like a bad nap, the one where you meant to lie down for maybe fifteen or twenty minutes, but it turned into four hours and you had no clue what time it was, and why was her mouth so dry?

It was night again, but she didn't know the time that had passed.

There was no beep of the monitor next to her, like there had been with others. She was in a small room, cramped, like she had been hidden from others, but there was a bed at least, and there was an IV hooked up to her, and something shoved down her throat.

That was the worst part.

As the world finally came into focus, with a strong clarity that she felt she probably hadn't experienced in what could very well be months, she felt like she was choking on the tube. Desperately, her hands pulled at the apparatuses shoved down her throat, tearing the tape, not caring that she had ripped and torn at her skin. She gagged as she pulled, not ripped, the tubes out. She was at least aware she should do it slowly.

It reeked, a disgusting mess of her saliva and someone who was in good need of a mouthwash. She nearly wretched as she threw the plastic to the side, and her stomach contracted painfully with hunger. God, she was so hungry.

There wasn't much light, just enough for her to adjust her eyes and see the room a little more clearly, deduced she had probably pulled a feeding tube out of herself. She wasn't as clean as last time, could tell she was definitely in need of a bath, and as she looked down at her body, she could tell she had lost a great deal of weight, her arms painfully skinny, almost like a skeleton.

Gingerly, she tried to get out of bed, but before she could stand, her legs trembled and she realized it had probably been awhile since she walked.

She was weak, her body had betrayed her.

 _The hole._

Her hands flew to her face, felt what was now an angry, healed scar across her cheek. She felt the other one that had been a laceration across her forehead as well now healed. And then, oh so gently, her fingers slid to the other side of her forehead, and felt there was a bandage that covered most of her head. She peeled away the gauze, having to spend several minutes unwrapping her head, noticing the flesh was different, mangled and more fresh. It was scabbed over for the most part, but she could pick it away if she want to, feel for the hole in her that went deeper than she wanted to know.

Then, oh so very carefully, her hands went to the back of her head, and she knew her hair was in ruins then. Her whole head had not been shaved, like they had been in a hurry, but there was a significantly large patch missing. This wound had been harder to heal, but she noticed it was towards the top of her head, and not as large as she had feared.

Her whole head hadn't been blown clean off. That was a good sign.

But it was a lot, it was almost too much.

She tried to bite back the harsh sob, but it still escaped her some. It echoed loudly in the silence, and she wanted to scream then. Wanted to shout and yell, gnash her teeth, escape this pain and loneliness.

 _Where is he?_

The door to her room opened.

"You're awake."

 **End Chapter**

 _Notes: OMFG WHY DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF?! Fuck you muse, fuck you! Yes, I know I have other stories, but I'm a total ass and I wanted Bethyl and deal with it. Just deal with it, bitches. Anyways, hope you like this. Let me know what you think. I really like to see some comments/criticism. The writing on this will be a little vague. We're following Beth on this, and she's confused. C'mon, again tell me what you think. Chapter 2 is almost done. Thanks all!_


	2. To Fight when you Feel Like Flying

_Disclaimer: Okay peeps! Don't own TWD and characters and yada-yada-yada. Canon-rejecting fic ahoy! Let's have fun with it!_

 **Chapter Two: To Fight when you Feel Like Flying**

She was told what happened after. How Dawn had been blown away into oblivion, how her people had wailed in agony, cried angrily. How the man with the big arms and crossbow and picked her up and carried her out after Grady had surrendered, how Shepherd said there had been no more need for violence.

They had all been in shock. Edwards had wanted to check to see if she was alive, but they were gone, and the others had a dead body and way too much blood to deal with.

Then, there had been the herd.

Probably eight hundred or more strong. It was like an angry swarm of wasps that descended and made the surrounding area hell. They had been lucky and fortified their needed area long ago, but the others...they had run, and Edwards had watched from the roof as the others had panicked. They were arguing, yelling. And Beth's limp body had been placed in a shitty car trunk with the lid slammed shut.

And they ran to a van, got another vehicle started, and got the hell out of Dodge, so to speak.

Just dust in the wind.

The herd had followed the group, leaving Grady behind eventually. The officers had gone out afterwards to clean up. The survivors of the hospital just went about their business, cleaning the blood, dumping the bodies down the shaft, and they just sort of...went on.

So he had convinced Licari to go out with him in the dead of night to check the car trunk. Against all odds, she was alive. That was miracle in itself. It was an even greater miracle about the bullet, that carved a deep groove against her head. There had been blood, lots yes, but head wounds bled a lot. There had been confusion and chaos, gore.

But she was alive. That is what mattered.

And he couldn't waste resources, at least not enough, so they didn't keep her hooked up to a ventilator or much of anything else. They could only wait and were only armed with an IV to fight infections, a feeding tube and just a bit of a prayer, Edwards fought for her. He fought to keep her alive, moving her limbs daily to stop the onset of muscle deterioration, worried as she wasted away on only 800 calories a day, but kept the hope as her head healed, and she stayed alive.

Now, she was awake, and it was another miracle.

He had given her water to drink, let her work her unused throat, while he told her all of the events. It had been two months of her drifting in and out.

Two months.

Might as well been a lifetime.

Then she was informed of what Grady had become, in her time while she drifted. Shepherd had taken over as commanding after Dawn's demise, and things had changed. Officers were not at the top. Everyone was expected to pull weight equally. They went on further runs, for weeks at a time, to ensure better supplies, and the possibility of survivors. People were not expected to join them and become slaves, but were offered a place, as long as they were willing to work.

Use of resources changed. More lights stayed off. They looked into trying and build a shitty solar power situation. A better rooftop garden was created.

They refused to leave though, to try and find a better place. The hospital provided protection and items that were not readily available. They had depleted a lot of resources, especially in the way of medicine, but they were trying to build something better now.

Instead of waiting for rescue, instead of just living day-to-day, they now looked to build survival and a community. They tried to fortify defenses. They tried to be better.

It brought its own set of problems. Three officers left after two weeks, when they realized they wouldn't be at the top, that they were expected to take risks, to work just as hard as the orderlies, and some of the orderlies had left as well, taking their chances on the outside world.

But they were not ostracized. Yet, it was understandable, and no one complained when it freed up food and the other resources.

While Beth was obviously a drain on those resources, Shepherd and Edwards felt a debt that must be owed, and they would keep her alive for as long as possible, but only maintain the bare minimum effort. Any more and that would just be crazy, unfair to the others.

So they waited then, and just watched, and that was all they could do with her.

It took him hours to tell her this, explained that she would need to take it slow, that walking would be hard at first, and some of her fine motor skills might have suffered. Because they lacked the ability to boot up the big machines, he wasn't sure what the extent of her brain damage would be. Originally, he did use the ultrasound machine to make sure that the inside of her head wasn't shredded, that there were no fragments from the bullet, and that she wouldn't be saved to just be a drooling vegetable. But now...now that she seemed to be functioning and cognizant, it came down to the little things, and how her state of mind would react to everything.

"I wish we had a psychiatrist here," Edwards babbled, "but not so lucky. That's probably who you're going to need, in the long run. Right now, it's about what you can do, how you feel. Just take it a day at a time."

"You know where they went?" she asked softly. Her voice was raspy, a small thread. "Did Noah go with them?"

"Don't know where. But Noah did go with."

Then she was so tired again, and he let her know she did well. He told her to get sleep, that'd he'd be by later to check how her wounds were healing, and that he would give her some broth. After that, they'd work on her leg strength and get her walking, then test her motor skills.

So she did that.

She just slept.

But she didn't sleep well.

Her dreams were dark, angry, full of rotting things, of accusatory eyes. In those dreams, everyone died. She got everyone killed, and they blamed her angrily. They told her that she was worthless. She didn't make it. She never did. She had always been weak. When she yelled she was strong, that she still sang, could still sing, it was all a lie. Instead she had endangered them all, got the back of her head blown out, and **it was all her fault**.

Those dreams made her head burn and itch. It made her want to tear the flesh away from her body, to reveal the skeleton underneath and slide into oblivion.

But she didn't.

So instead, she would wake in the dead of night with a gasp. She would feel like she was choking, sometimes wretched what little liquid was left in her onto the bedspread, and cry like the wounded animal she was. One of those nights, Edwards tried to comfort her, to soothe the pain, but she pushed him away, angry with his deceit and lies and fucking bullshit.

It was his fault she was like this, her mind would whisper

 _Not true._

And so she warred with herself. She was angry, she was hurt. Her body wasn't working right. There were so many things wrong.

 _And he's not here!_

No, he wasn't there for her. Was he the one that refused to leave her behind, until he realized they couldn't outrun a horde with a limp body? Did he fight to bring her with? Where were they? Did they take Noah to his family in Richmond?

That seemed a good place to start. No other leads, might as well go for that one.

Days went by, bleeding into one another. Some of the orderlies came by, and began the start of a very painful physical therapy. Walking was hard. It was painful and slow, but she pushed herself. Sometimes, she pushed too hard, but no one reprimanded her. They understood how it felt to be useless. Doing little things was harder: holding a spoon, writing, trying to thread a needle. Her hands would shake, and multitasking was difficult. It was hard for her to focus, sometimes feeling like a white hot lance going through her, the world getting too high pitched and bright. She'd have to stop, take a breath, and go again.

She fought back, though. She fought through the pain, fought through the tremors, eventually getting more successful with her hands, though she was unable to do the finer skills. She definitely wouldn't be sewing, but she could hold a knife, protect herself like she used to. But even with it being hard to focus, that still wasn't the worst of it.

The worst was finding out she couldn't sing anymore.

One night, they were all in the cafeteria, having a communal meal, and laughing. There was a little bit of drinking, but mostly laughing, and someone brought out a guitar. They weren't the best, but certainly weren't the worst. So everyone sang along, still laughing.

Then she tried.

Her voice wasn't the clear, strong lilt of a songbird anymore. Instead, what came out was off-key, hoarse, and lower than what she was used to. It was like someone fucking around on the oboe, a kid practicing, and it was terrible. Everyone slowed down then, looking at her with pity, and it was then she ran off, tears in her eyes and an anger she hadn't experienced in a long while.

Edwards found her, holed up in a supply closet later. She was still trying to sing, but it came out a mess. It was a little kid that hadn't learned their scales, and she kept crying as she wretchedly sang, such a broken little songbird.

"Beth," he whispered.

"I don't sing. I don't sing anymore, do I?" she asked him, her face streaked with tears, eyes red and puffy. "I can't stay here." She scrubbed at her face, done crying. She had that hard look in her eyes, the one he remembered as the old Beth: strong and defiant. "I have to find them. I have to try."

He kneeled down by her then, awkwardly rubbing her shoulder. She was so very frail and thin, he was afraid she could break at any moment, but she never really did. She stumbled, but she never broke, never became pieces that had to be glued back together.

"You aren't strong enough yet. I don't think even if you are that you can go by yourself."

"Then take me." Her eyes were clear. She was a she-wolf in that moment, cunning and full of fantastic plans. He felt taken aback by her, and he knew that he couldn't say no. "You owe me."

He hung his head, ashamed, because he knew it to be true.

He owed her.

He owed her so many things, and he knew that until he gave his life to her, it would never be enough. God, it still wouldn't be enough. He had helped put her through hell, and then he brought her back, brought her back from the depths of hell when she hadn't asked him to. He had truly played the fiddle, and it was an eerie tune.

"Okay." His tone was soft, defeated. "Okay, we'll go. Soon."

"Tomorrow," she rebuked, disallowing him to procrastinate the inevitable. "We leave tomorrow, in the afternoon. Enough to get out of the city and find a place for the night."

"Yeah. Okay. Tomorrow."

* * *

500 miles.

It was 500 miles to the Shirewilt Estates in Richmond. All they had was an atlas map that they were able to procure from the gift shop (why there was an atlas at a hospital gift shop was a mystery), and from that map, they knew it to be over 500 miles. They hoped that the roads wouldn't be a mess, but they knew that hope was probably futile.

Before the apocalypse, before the downfall of roads, it would have taken over eight hours for them to drive. Now, they honestly had no clue, but they had a large backpack and supplies. Edwards carried the brunt of it, he honestly wasn't sure how Beth would take to having to walk so far in a day.

Then they left. It was quiet, nothing much. Shepherd had her reservations, especially since Edwards was the only real doctor around, but she knew she couldn't make him stay, and she had no death wish to follow.

So it was just Beth and Edwards.

He had changed clothes. He still wore the same brown pants, but now he had a white shirt with a black t-shirt over top, looking unsure in his choice of clothing as he shouldered the large black backpack. Beth carried a small pack for canteens and a machete that they had somehow gotten at one point from an outsider.

They had some canned goods, mostly MRE's (which they were damn lucky to get a hold of), fresh water, no sleeping bags or tents though, forgoing comfort for mobility. There was some almotriptan in case Beth experienced migraines, some ibuprofen, simple acetaminophen, a short course of antibiotics and a suture kit. It would be enough to get by, in most cases. That was the hope.

Beth was aware that she knew how to survive. She had done so for a while, after all, but it was fuzzy, more like a reflex than a conscious thought. There were a lot of memories that were still locked. She knew who she was, what had happened, and remembered a lot of faces, but the deeper stuff, some of those thoughts and events that had happened not too long before she ended up at Grady, were locked in dreams. She knew they were, but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't seem to get to them.

Off they went that day then, with just those supplies and a hope for Richmond. They knew that it was best to walk out of the city, and so they made their way slowly, ensuring to not catch the attention of any crowds, but a lot had been cleared out since her start at Grady. It was mostly quiet, and they kept to the side streets, making sure to not get trapped or fall into any alleyways.

Most of the day had left them by the time they made it out of Atlanta, slow and steady on the I-85. They knew it was risky, but it was the more direct route, and they kept an eye out for the walkers still. It appeared that a lot had taken to the woods in an effort to find more food. The main road ended up being deserted, and in better shape than expected.

They made it far, traveling throughout most of the night, and planned to sleep during the afternoon. It made it difficult, but the stealth of night attracted less welcome things, and was cooler than Georgia's muggy heat.

Their first stop was near Embry Hills, and they made due at the Chevron gas station that had a Subway, the windows boarded up and the entire thing abandoned a long time ago. There were a few vehicles, but they refrained from trying to get any started. Instead, they made sure they were locked up safely, and that no light could be seen from the outside.

Beth was exhausted, and as soon as the gas station was secure, she passed out in the back Subway room. Her feet were blistered, and it had been so long since she had pushed her body. It had only been about 14 miles they had traveled, but it had been a punishing pace for her, and she needed rest at this time.

Edwards had scrounged the station and fast food place for food, preferring to eat what they could find before tapping into what they had packed. There was some Spam and vienna sausages, a few power bars, and water bottles that probably weren't any good, but they drank them anyways. A box of expired cereal was a bit trampled, but it made for a good, starchy dessert that they shared handfuls of after the Spam and sausage meal.

They found some packing materials in the back store room, and used that as makeshift beds. Unable to focus, Beth couldn't take watch, so Edwards did his best to set up a chain of items that would alert them if anyone would try to enter. They locked themselves in the back room, and Beth slipped into the darkness that beckoned to her with open arms.

 **End Chapter**

 _Notes: Heyyyy everyone! Hope everyone is having a wonderful summer that isn't hot, muggy, and full of biting bugs! So anyways, kind of wanted to get another chapter or two out before next week, as I leave for a camping excursion on the 8th and won't be back until about the 17th or so. Of course, I will not have Internet access in the wilds, so I've tied my muse up and am torturing for ideas. Anyways, I only have a bit of personal experience with head injuries. I know how horrific they can be. I also know how tough they are to fight against. But! This is a zombie apocalypse. Let's suspend a bit of medical disbelief as well, shall we? We will see her struggle. And I know it seems like I am going through the journey part a little fast, but I didn't necessarily want to focus on months of journeying. I want to focus on the consequences, of what happens if she made it and all that jazz. I love comments/criticism, so any is greatly appreciated. Thanks all!_


End file.
